


bring it on home to me

by geralehane



Series: clexa playlist collection [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 08:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12813549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geralehane/pseuds/geralehane
Summary: clarke is an android programmed so perfectly she easily passes for a lively, lovely, human 20 something year old girl, and lexa is a human much better suited for android lifestyle who is confused by everything, and most of all clarke.





	bring it on home to me

**Author's Note:**

> check out [twitter](http://geralehane.tumblr.com/%E2%80%9C>%20my%20tumblr</a>%20for%20a%20link%20to%20my%20other%20works!%0A%0Aand%20follow%20me%20on:%20%0A<a%20href=)  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thegeralehane)
> 
> enjoy your read!

It’s easy to forget she's talking to a -- something. Not someone. Clarke makes it so easy. 

“Come on, Lex,” she nudges her, and her laughter is pleasantly husky and rich. Alive. “I'll let you win this round, I promise.” She playfully bumps Lexa’s shoulder with her fist, and then her hand lands close to Lexa's knee, uncovered by her shorts. She can feel warmth emanating from it. 

She wonders if Clarke's hands are warmer than hers. It's very likely that they are. “You never let me win.” It's true. Lexa has never won Clarke in any Nintendo game they have played, and they played a _lot_. Either Clarke has to win every time, or she actually tries to help Lexa, but she's simply exceptionally bad at video games. Lexa is inclined to believe it's the second one. 

Clarke shrugs. “It's not my fault you're _that_ bad,” she tells her, confirming her thought. Lexa thinks she's teasing her. She's not sure. Androids aren't supposed to know how teasing works. Or humor. They might look human, but at the end of the day, they aren't. That's the general approach to them. They were created to help humans explore. Be there when fragile human bodies and minds need an artificial hand. Get to the sun because they are able to withstand the heat. Pilot a spaceship for ten years while the human captain is in stasis, because their body - and mind - can't handle such a prolonged period of time in space, but an android’s can. Androids don’t know fear, or panic, or anger. Or love. They are free of things that make humans weak - and, ironically enough, that make humans _human._  

Lexa thinks back to all the Christmas and birthday presents Clarke gave her and the way her blue eyes sparkled with mirth and something too close to adoration. Glances at her and watches her smirk that's definitely a teasing one, with a tongue mischievously poking out between white teeth. 

They are supposed to be free of that. 

Sometimes, she's not sure who's the human. “No,” she says, slowly. “No, it's not your fault.” 

Clarke rolls her eyes, but not unkindly. Her crystal blue eyes that sparkle when she smiles. “You're such a party pooper sometimes, Lex,” she tells her. “You're lucky I like you all serious.” 

//

She wakes up screaming, sometimes, and Clarke is always there, gaze worried and hands warm as she helps her sit up and gives her a glass of cold water. 

“Her again?” She asks, and her eyes are full of sympathy. They are always full of sympathy. But lately, there's something else. Something that makes Lexa's heart skip a beat, and the worst part is she's not sure if it's in fear or _excitement._  

She blinks and looks down on Clarke's hand soothingly rubbing her thigh and thinks that if she were to cut her palm, there would be no blood. “Yes,” she croaks out. “Her.” 

She still can't bring herself to say Costia’s name. It's been three years. Three years of drifting through the universe, with her crew in the stasis, asleep, and her wife -- she liked to think her wife was among the stars, at first. But the stars are either dead or cold or deadly, and Costia was so full of life and warmth till the very end. Now, she thinks - hopes - she's… up there. Higher than these dull, lifeless stars. Surrounded by an endless summer, and the sky is blue and the sand is white and the lake is crystal clear. Just like her laughter.

Clarke’s hand is too warm, almost hot, when she touches her arm. “You should try and get some sleep,” she whispers as she takes the glass back from her. Lexa realizes she didn't even take a sip. Just held the glass, tighter and tighter until Clarke stopped her from breaking it. “If you can.” 

She knows she'll be out as soon as her head touches the pillow. Lately, she feels more exhausted than usual. Still, when Clarke rises from her bed, she catches her arm. 

Clarke turns, and her gaze is expectant. “Do you need anything else?” 

Androids were made to help humans. Lexa swallows. “No,” she says. “No, I… Thank you. I just wanted to say thank you.” 

Androids don't understand gratitude. It is their duty - serving humans. 

Clarke’s smile is soft. “You're welcome.” Lexa's arm burns where she touches it and squeezes, gently. “Now go back to sleep. I'll be there in the morning.” 

//

“Have you met your maker?” Lexa asks one day as they have breakfast. Well. She has breakfast. Clarke just watched her with a soft smirk and sparkling eyes. She used to find it unnerving. Used to. 

Clarke blinks at her question. Then, she frowns. Lexa watches her facial expressions with a curiosity that can only be described as hungry. “Not really, no,” she replies. “Only in passing. He died shortly after I was created.” 

Lexa nods. “Right. I forgot. I'm sorry.” 

“It's okay,” Clarke says. “I don't really -- I mean I am sad that he died because when people die that's what you're supposed to feel, I guess, but… I didn't know him. I wasn't close with him. I think his first creations were much more upset.” She thinks for a while. “Or not. I think earlier models weren't able to feel much.” 

It's unsettling - how easily she talks about herself being a.. creation. Someone -- something that didn't have parents giving birth to her. 

 _Am I not also someone’s creation?_ Lexa silently asks herself. _Not Lexa the person, but Lexa the human?_ It's a dangerous path that these kind of questions lead to. Lexa knows that. So she brushes them off. 

(Kind of hard not to ask them, though, when the only other person she interacts with is the source of her daily existential crisis.) 

“Are you able to feel?” 

Clarke's eyes narrow, just briefly, but long enough for Lexa to mentally slap herself. “Careful,” she says, and her tone is teasing, but there's something darker lurking underneath. “I might get offended.” 

“I'm sorry,” Lexa offers. It's not much, but -- she's bad with trying to make amends. She's not good with apologies, either. Or any social situations, for that matter. It's the main reason she wasn't appointed as the captain for this expedition. It's also the main reason she was allowed to not go under. To remain awake for ten long years, all alone, with only an android to keep her company. 

Clarke smirks again. “It's fine. I know how awkward you can get with this stuff.” She pours Lexa more orange juice. “Sometimes I think you'd make a great android. A much better one. Don't worry, that's a compliment.” 

“I'm not worried.” 

Her smile grows. “I know. That's why I wasn't afraid to say it.” 

//

One night, she wakes up not from screams, but from tears streaming down her face, and Clarke is holding her. 

“It's okay,” she whispers. “It's okay.” 

Lexa drinks the water Clarke brought, and wordlessly asks her to stay when she lays back down in her arms, clutching the hem of her shirt. 

There's a kiss pressed to the top of her head, but she thinks she's dreamt it. 

Clarke doesn't talk about her own puffy, bloodshot eyes the next morning, and Lexa doesn't bring it up, either. 

//

Clarke steals glances at her during movie nights when she thinks she's not looking, and she keeps choosing old rom coms. Lexa doesn't say anything, because she doesn't know what she can possibly say. 

Androids aren't supposed to have feelings. They are especially not supposed to have feelings for humans. 

And humans aren't supposed to return them. 

// 

Clarke follows her to bed one day, and Lexa knows she should probably tell her to leave, but she's been staying with her almost every single night now, and so she figures it's no sense kicking her out when she'll be back in a few hours, coaxing her out from a yet another nightmare. 

So she climbs under the blanket and holds it up for Clarke to do the same. 

Clarke doesn't mind when she turns away from her. Her arm is strong but soft when she curls it around her waist. 

Costia used to be the big spoon, too, sometimes. 

Lexa cries herself to sleep, and it's not an unusual thing; but feeling relief while she does so is. And so is having someone press small, clumsy, but somehow soothing kisses to the back of her neck. 

They don't talk about it the next day, but she can feel Clarke wants to, and it terrifies her. 

// 

“Do you miss your old crew?” Lexa asks as she gets hopelessly beaten at chess for the third time in a row. Clarke shrugs. 

“Not really. I do feel bad about Finn being fired because of me, though.” When Lexa gives her an inquiring look, her eyes widen. “Uh - shit. I don't think I was supposed to say that.” 

“We do a lot of things we are not supposed to.” Lexa means it in a general sense. _We_ as in _humankind._ Or _androidkind._ Whatever. Point is -- general. But Clarke's gaze grows unsure and then drops to the chessboard, and Lexa thinks about the nights they spend together and silently curses herself. 

She tries again. “You can trust me, Clarke. I can keep a secret. Well,” she smirks, “mostly because I don't have anyone to talk to. Even when the crew is awake and not in stasis.” That earns her a tentative smile back, and her own grows, inadvertently. “Besides, by the time I have someone else to talk to, it'll be old news anyway. We still have seven years to go.” 

Clarke looks down at her hands and takes a deep breath, clearly deciding whether to open up. Then, determined blue eyes meet hers. “There's a reason I was reprogrammed before I was assigned to your ship,” she says. 

“I knew there was something up with that,” Lexa says. Androids rarely require reprogramming. She was suspicious about that right from the start. Even tried to convince Anya to get another android. But there was a shortage of them, and they didn't have time to wait for new ones. 

“Yeah,” Clarke says. “I think I got lucky. In the past, when there was enough androids to go around, I probably would've been eliminated. But since so many have been destroyed during expeditions, I turned out to be more valuable than originally thought.” 

“So why did they reprogram you?” 

Clarke smirks.”They _tried_ to reprogram me,” she says, and Lexa feels unease prickle at the back of her head in spite of herself. What if the reason for - failed - reprogramming was something sinister? Lexa imagines Clarke plotting to wipe out the humankind. Global and absolute genocide. She shakes her head. No, Clarke -- Clarke would never do something like that. She knows her. 

She's struck, suddenly, with the amount of sheer _trust_ she has for Clarke. 

“It wasn't because of something awfully terrifying,” Clarke hurries to say, as if reading Lexa's - silly - thoughts. “It's kind of funny, actually. I, uh -- I had an affair with one of the crew members.” 

Lexa blinks, and gapes at her. “I,” she says, and closes her mouth. Opens it again. Continues to stare at Clarke who tries to mask her clearly growing discomfort by scowling and scoffing. 

“What? It’s not a big deal.” When Lexa continues to look at her, her scowl deepens. “We just kissed a couple of times. I -- you know what, I knew I shouldn’t have told you anything.” 

An android that had an affair -- that kissed a human. An android that gets upset, and throws tantrums, and scowls and laughs and teases and makes Lexa feel like the gravity has been turned off and she’s flying through space. Which she is, but -- not the point. 

An android that makes the vast cosmos feel less lonely. Any programming specialist would call her damaged. Imperfect, unlike her “brothers” and “sisters.” (Lexa thinks, suddenly, that this makes her so infinitely more perfect than any of them.) 

She springs to her feet, catching Clarke’s elbow right as she turns to briskly walk away. “I’m sorry,” she says. The words taste different. Confident. “I apologize for my reaction. It was rude and insensitive.” She smiles, meeting Clarke’s brooding gaze with her own. “I tend to be that a lot, as you’ve noticed.” 

Clarke starts to wrestle her arm out of her grip, and she immediately lets her go, taking a step back to show her she doesn’t mean any harm. Clarke’s free to leave. But she stays, and her gaze slowly warms. “Not true,” she says, stubbornly. It’s one of her prominent traits, Lexa’s noticed after she got over the initial shock that she even has prominent traits. She’s kept that shock private, of course. “You just want everyone to think so.” 

She’s been told that once or twice by someone else. Another person she held dear. Lexa blinks, and briefly looks at the ground before lifting her gaze to Clarke’s face again. “Nevertheless, I am sorry for the way I handled the situation. I understand if you don’t want to tell me anything else, but -- I’m always there to listen if you want to talk about it. Or -- anything.” 

Clarke’s still pouting, slightly, and Lexa’s struggling not to let her gaze drop to her lips when her scowl dissipates and she sighs. “What am I going to do with you?” It’s gentle. Lexa shrugs and allows herself a small half-smile. She’s been told it’s a charming smile. She hopes it helps with repairing the damage she’s caused. 

Clarke’s pout fades away, and she sits back down and tells Lexa the story she’s never told anyone. Mostly because no one asked. His name was Finn, she says. He was sweet, and handsome, and he was the first person to care. Actually care. He never tried to prove he’s better than her just because he’s human, like some people tend to. He protected her whenever she’d get in a verbal fight with the captain, and they had a lot of those, Clarke says, and Lexa believes her, because Clarke is witty and her tongue is sharp and she’s so, so stubborn sometimes. 

(Some -- most programming specialists would say she’s a hazard. Lexa spent half of her conscious life with such hazards, yet they were never eliminated just because they had blood running through their veins. Just because they had veins in the first place.) 

“He was a good man,” Clarke says, and looks down at her hands. “He said that -- he’s never felt that way about anyone, and it scared him because, well -- I’m me,” she lets out a laugh. Lexa doesn’t find it funny. Judging by the crease between her brows, neither does Clarke. “We were caught one night, when he took me stargazing in one of the blocks and kissed me for the first time. The captain was _furious._ ” She chuckles. “He yelled at me. Yelled at him. Tried to deactivate me then and there, but Finn didn’t let him. Said it was his fault and his responsibility. He said that…” Clarke swallows as she trails off before continuing, and Lexa has to grasp her chair to stop herself from reaching out and softly wiping the tears that start to fall from blue eyes. “He said I was no better than a kid. That I -- didn’t know better. Said I can be reprogrammed.” She sniffs and wipes her tears herself, but even more come, and she lets them. “He went against the captain only because he knew he was _so_ fired. As soon as the ship came back to Earth, he’d be kicked out. He knew that.” 

“Oh,” Lexa says. “Well, did you -- did you try to… be with each other? After the landing? The reprogramming obviously failed, and you… you seem like you still care about him.” There’s a sharp pang in her chest that she ignores, because if she doesn’t, she’ll have to question herself why it’s there in the first place, and -- even though she already knows the answer, she doesn’t want to think about it. It’ll make it real. So she pushes her feelings aside and focuses on Clarke. 

Clarke, whose tears fall faster and who’s not looking at her. “No,” she says, and it’s suddenly curt. “We didn’t, because Finn didn’t make it to the landing.” She’s crying, but her face is unmoving. It’s a fascinating sight. Would be a fascinating sight if Lexa’s heart wasn’t squeezing painfully in her chest. “He died. He knew Earth had nothing to offer. Not to him. He became reckless. We ran into scavengers on our way back, and he was reckless, and so he died.” 

Lexa’s stunned into silence, and Clarke’s still not looking at her as she cries. Her hands are cold when Lexa takes them into hers and kneels before her. Clarke’s head finds her shoulder, and she lets her rest there, smoothing her thumbs over her knuckles. 

“I think I miss him,” Clarke whispers to her. Lexa can hear a small amount of guilt there, and she squeezes Clarke’s hands, gently. 

“It’s normal to miss those we once loved,” she whispers back, thinking about Costia’s dark curls and a brilliant smile. _You never stop missing them._  

Clarke sniffs a little. “I don’t… I’m not sure if I loved him.” She’s always quiet, almost shy when it comes to admitting she doesn’t know something. Especially if that something is so innately human. “But I think he was the one who taught me what it could be like - to love. So I would be ready when I met -- someone. Someone else.” Her voice stumbles over the last words, and she pulls away, gently, but with an undercurrent of urgency in her movements. 

Lexa’s voice stops her just as she’s about to exit the room. “Thank you for trusting me, Clarke.” 

She doesn’t turn, but Lexa sees her nod. “Of course.” 

// 

Clarke is an incredibly curious girl. (She can’t refer to her as an _android_ anymore. She never could, she thinks. She never really did. She only compared her to them, but right from the start, Lexa realizes, Clarke was something separate from them in her mind. Someone separate. Her own person. Maybe all of them are actually like that. Lexa wouldn’t know. Clarke’s the first one she’s spend more than three minutes with.) 

Clarke is an incredibly curious girl. She also has a tendency to get bored when Lexa’s too busy with checking her crew’s vitals, and so she pokes around in the ship system’s algorithms to try and perfect them. She already taught Alie, the ship’s operating system, to cook Lexa breakfast just the way she likes it. Lexa’s not gonna lie - at first she was afraid they’d band together and sabotage the human crew. Now, she feels ashamed for such thoughts. 

Clarke’s curious, and when she finds something she doesn’t understand, she keeps digging until she gets what it is. It’s also virtually impossible to hide something from her. When Sam Cooke’s _Bring It On Home To Me_ starts softly playing through the dynamics, there’s no doubt in Lexa’s mind that it has everything to do with Clarke and her insatiable thirst for knowledge. 

“Clarke?” She calls as she walks into the pilot cabin. She finds her reclined back in a chair, eyes closed and face relaxed in a blissful, surprised pleasure. She almost feels bad about cutting her fun time short. 

Clarke practically jumps up when Lexa presses pause. It’s an old CD player. Her old CD player. Lexa’s shocked it’s still there. She thought she threw it out a long time ago. Perhaps, she couldn’t bring herself to doing so back then. 

“I’ve never heard anything like that,” Clarke tells her. “What composer is that?” 

Lexa feels like laughing, but she doesn’t. “It’s not a composer. I mean, someone composed this song, but -- I only know who’s the singer.” She frowns. “He’s probably the one who composed it, too.” 

Clarke is looking at her, and her expression is so innocently curious Lexa wants to -- nothing. She doesn’t want to do anything. She wants to throw this piece of junk out and get back to work. “My creators didn’t let me listen to anything that wasn’t a classical piece,” she says. Lexa already knows that. Androids are supposed to be perfect. They only listen to perfect music. She’s suddenly overcome with the realization that it’s such _bullshit._ SHe’s read about their maker. The _Creator._ A pretentious asshole, more like it. Her created androids “in his image,” and his image was that of an emotionless dick who thought himself above others. And was really into classical music. 

She can’t wrap her head around the fact that Clarke is, essentially, his creation. She just can’t. “Well,” she says. “Your creators suck.” 

Clarke shrugs. “Not really. I liked one of them. He was an engineer. He snuck me out sometimes and let me watch movies. Everything I know, I learned from him.” 

Lexa’s finger is still on the pause button. She traces it. Two vertical dents in plastic. “You’ve never told me about that before.” 

Clarke shrugs. “It felt difficult. It’s easier after Finn.” 

Lexa nods. “What else did you do with that engineer?” 

“We went to a park. He let me feed the ducks. He promised to get me an mp3 player for my birthday.” Clarke uses air quotes when she says _birthday,_ and Lexa probably shouldn't find it this cute. “I think it would’ve had this kind of music. Really good music.” She smirks. “I think I might barf if I’m forced to listen to another one of Beethoven sonatas.” 

“I’m pretty sure you heard them all already,” Lexa says. “There’s only 32 of them. Why didn’t he get you the player?” 

Clarke sighs. “I was assigned to the Ark,” she says. “Jake tried to stop them. That’s his name. Jake. Jacob Griffin. He said I wasn’t ready and that I required more training, but they wouldn’t listen. The Ark had an important mission, and I was one of the first new prototypes, so they sent me.” 

“Guess they miscalculated,” Lexa says, and Clarke’s blue eyes flame with indignation, but she speaks before Clarke has a chance to become angry. “Not that I’m complaining. You’re here now.” 

Clarke relaxes, and her smile is small and slow. “Yeah.” 

“Was Jake,” Lexa starts, and then stops. It’s none of her business. It shouldn’t be any of her business. But Clarke’s looking at her expectantly, and she’s never been the type to shy away from things. “Was Jake the same to you as Finn?” 

“Oh, no,” Clarke laughs at that. “No, he was -- he just took care of me. I think he always wanted a daughter, but he never married. At least that’s what he told me.” 

Lexa nods. Glances down at her old CD player, and at her finger still on the pause button. “So you’ve never listened to rock? Or blues? Jazz?” 

Clarke shakes her head. “I can flawlessly play every classical piece there is on any instrument there is, and I know what rock and blues and jazz is, in theory, but I’ve never listened to it, no.” 

Lexa closes her eyes, and smiles, and presses play, letting the soft beat fill up the room. “Your maker is a bit of a dick,” she tells Clarke as she slowly approaches her. 

“Tell me about it,” Clarke scoffs. She’s still lounging in her chair, looking up at Lexa curiously. 

“If you’ve never listened to this,” Lexa says, and holds out her hand, “then you’ve never danced to it, either, right?” 

Clarke’s eyes grow wide as she looks at her hand and then back at her. “I -- no,” she stutters. “I haven’t.” 

Lexa flexes her hand, once, wordlessly, and when Clarke accepts, she’s not surprised to feel relief course through her veins. Her palm is a little calloused, and her hand is warm. Lexa curls her own hand around it, motioning for Clarke to stand up and guiding her other hand to her shoulder. “Just like _Scent of a Woman,_ ” she says. “But not quite.” 

Clarke’s quiet gasp seems to reverberate throughout Lexa’s entire body when her hand finds Clarke’s waist. It’s the closest they’ve ever been - awake, that is. She feels her breath on her neck. Can smell the citrus freshness of her shampoo. If she lets herself, she can drown in the warmth of her body. 

Clarke’s not quite human, but she makes it so, so impossibly easy to forget that. And lately, Lexa does that more and more often. Forgets. 

She starts gently swaying, from side to side, and Clarke follows her lead. She smiles when Clarke tentatively places her head on her shoulder as they continue to slow dance. She thinks she can feel her own heartbeat, fast but steady, if she concentrates. Clarke doesn’t have one. But she thinks it doesn’t matter. 

Clarke lets out a surprised laugh when Lexa gently pushes her away for a quick twirl, and she’s already slightly out of breath when she tugs her back. Lexa’s own breath catches in her throat, because -- Clarke’s face is unexpectedly close. She didn’t -- plan on this happening. 

Best things in life just happen, she thinks. 

They still. Clarke slowly brings their joined hands to their shoulders, and Lexa’s hand naturally falls to her waist while Clarke’s finds her other shoulder.

 _Oh, honey, bring it to me,_ Sam Cooke urges from several centuries ago. _Bring your sweet loving - bring it on home to me._  

“I,” Lexa whispers when Clarke swallows and cups the back of her neck. “I shouldn’t…” She doesn’t finish. Clarke’s eyes are serious, but soft. 

“I won’t make that decision for you,” she tells her quietly. 

Lexa nods. And leans in. 

Clarke’s lips are soft and warm and taste like the clear sky and the crystal lake and summer, and she forces down a choked sob as she breathes out through her nose and tugs her closer. 


End file.
